


Sweet Tart

by Alyce_Ashe



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-13 00:14:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29767770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alyce_Ashe/pseuds/Alyce_Ashe
Summary: It started with a note, slid under his door. Treacherous slip of paper penned with promises of innocent fun. He wished he had thrown the offending invitation into the fire—almost.Estinien turned his spear over slowly in his hands, willing away these wicked thoughts. He wanted to forget it even happened and if he had to walk through fire to wipe the sight of that wry grin from his memory forever, he would. Or so he tried to convince himself. But he had made a promise and he would see it through. He may be many things, terrible even, but he was not an oath breaker.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6
Collections: Bookclub Valentione's Fic Exchange 2021





	Sweet Tart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [juntei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/juntei/gifts).



> Greetings fellow gremlins!
> 
> This is my first foray into public writing and I hope this is at least half as fun for you to read as it has been for me to write. 
> 
> And a musical, [emotional landscape](https://youtu.be/LZcAF_IoroU) that inspired the direction of this story.

It started with a note, slid under his door. Treacherous slip of paper penned with promises of innocent fun. He wished he had thrown the offending invitation into the fire—almost. 

Estinien turned his spear over slowly in his hands, willing away these wicked thoughts. He wanted to forget it even happened and if he had to walk through fire to wipe the sight of that wry grin from his memory forever, he would. Or so he tried to convince himself. But he had made a promise and he would see it through. He may be many things, terrible even, but he was not an oath breaker. 

The flames from the campfire danced and licked at shafts of moonlight filtering through the clouds. It was silent in camp save for the subtle rustle of leaves in the breeze. If only there were danger, a foe to face, to focus on. After a lifetime of war with an enemy with who might strike at any moment, Estinien did not trust the calm surrounding him.

He let out a breath, not realizing he had been holding it in and stood to brace Gae Bolg against the nearby tree. He was being ridiculous, letting these memories agitate him so. Sharp eyes scanned the perimeter of their camp, searching for movement, anything out of place. He found nothing of note and took a deep breath. He had at least two bells before his watch was done and it was time to wake the next man and the minutes seemed to be stretching into years. 

Grabbing a log, Estinien threw it on the fire and sat to watch the flames swell and frolic, eager to play with their new food. They twisted and writhed merrily creating shapes and scenes from another world, another time and he felt himself drifting into them. 

_The heavy oak door swung easily on its hinges and hit the wall with a loud thud as he strode through, armored boots clanging against the wooden floor. His helm and gauntlets were quickly tossed on the entry table as he set about removing the rest of his armor. First his pauldrons, then the breast plate which was so caked with grime and gore it was difficult to find and undo the clasps. By the Fury, he needed a bath. Now in his relatively clean scale mail, he sat in a chair that was more suited to a parlor room than a Dragoon’s quarters—Aymeric’s doing. “You should enjoy all the comforts home has to offer when you can, you may not have the chance on the ‘morrow,” he had said when Estinien had found the chair. Estinien huffed, his old friend was not wrong, but did he have to be so insufferably kind?_

_His fingers worked over the clasps and buckles on his sabatons as the pressure around his thighs and knees dissipated until the armor was ready to slide off. He let it fall on the floor with a loud clang as he deftly worked to free his other leg. He was eager for the warm bath water to wash away the sins of the day—not that his soul could ever be cleansed thus, some gore could never be expunged._

_His left foot was stuck in the boot, something must be blocking the fastener. He leaned back in the chair, drawing his ankle over his right knee to get a better look. Golden light from the window behind him fell over his form and caught the facets of something entangled in the buckle at his ankle, twinkling. With as delicate a touch as he could manage, Estinien slowly pried the offending object from his armor and studied it. It was some kind of crystal or glass, cut to capture the light in the shape of a heart with a long thin pin connecting to the apex of the shape. Estinien arched an eyebrow twisting the pin between his fingers and watching the light dance through it. Probably dropped on the street by a maid, he thought as he tossed the glittering bauble onto the table with his soiled armor and went back to his task to liberate his foot. Now freed of debris, the sabaton slid easily as he pulled on the toe and released his leg. The clang of armor falling to the floor once again filled his ears as he leaned back, realizing there was still something stuck to his fingers. A slip of dirty paper was hanging on his ring finger, sealed to the skin with wet muck. He plucked the refuse with his other hand, standing to cross over to the fire and toss it in before resuming his undressing._

_He stopped short however, his eyes catching the curving letters of his own name scrawled on the cleaner side. A letter, his curiosity was piqued, and he quickly broke the wax seal beneath his name in script, noting a large hole torn one corner. Unfolding the sodden parchment, his eyes quickly scanned the words and went wide with surprise._

_Ser Estinien Wyrmblood, Azure Dragoon,_

_You are cordially invited to attend the annual Winter Masquerade in honor of Lady Valentione, hosted by House Fortemps and the Scions of the Seventh Dawn.…In the spirit of friendship, we ask that you bring a gift of gratitude and solidarity for your dining partner, you shall find a list of their fancies below….Attached is a pin imbued with a glamour for the masquerade, please bring it with you to wear after cocktail hour….flowers, spices for cooking, old books…._

_In all his years, Estinien had been to many official state and formal functions, but never had he been invited to a celebration at one of the high houses. Though his deeds had earned him fame and prestige—and often contempt—as the Azure Dragoon, he was still common born and no great deed could ever outshine that glaring stain on him to the nobility. He scoffed and crossed back to the table, laying the invitation atop his breastplate, a problem to think on later. For now, he only wanted to get clean and drop into his bed. Though as he langored in the steaming tub, he idly wondered who his dining partner would be at this party. Would the Warrior be there? He had not seen her in a moon, probably sticking her nose into someone else’s business to save the world._

A loud pop from the fire pulled his attention back to the present. He quickly scanned the perimeter again, all still, quiet and calm. He sighed, this was to be a long night. Though he closed his grip tighter on his self control, his thoughts would not relent, assaulting him with whispers of rosemary and pine, the tell tale scent of the Lord Commander’s office. He focused on the tree line a few yalms from the edge of camp, studying each shadow cast, searching for any sign of something amiss. The words came unbidden, caressing his mind like a lover, “You should attend my friend, you might be surprised by what you find there.” Not that Aymeric had been wrong, his friend was often correct but the manner of truths Aymeric traded in were veiled in uncertainty, the good buried beneath the unsavory. Would that they could be more direct, Estinien loathed playing the game. 

He rolled his eyes at the frustration and let out a sigh. What had it been, two…three years and this still vexed him? He shook his head. He had long ago accepted the events of that night, found peace with them, buried them and laid flowers upon the grave of his heart. Why now was his mind so determined now to bring up the dead? He found himself falling into his familiar habit of pacing, much like a caged animal, when his thoughts attacked him. The movement gave him something else to focus on, the shifting of weight on each footstep in the soft earth, the chill in his lungs from a fresh breath of frigid air, the perimeter of the camp all angles taken in by his head on a swivel. Yet this pattern also worked against him, rhythmically lulling him back to his thoughts.

_The Jewelled Crosier was always busy, but this day was the most crowded he had ever seen the merchant quarter. Women's skirts swirled against the stone cobbles as they flitted from stall to stall, sharing gossip and trading coin for brightly wrapped parcels overflowing from their arms or shoved into the hands of their trailing retainers. Was everyone in the city invited to this ball? Estinien deftly moved through the happy din, finding the openings between groups to slide further into the crowd. He was not sure, exactly, what he was looking for but the note had given him some ideas at least._

_He savored the smell of fresh baked pastries and allowed his nose to lead him to the stall offering up all manner of delectable sweet treats. It was surrounded by a throng of patrons all pushing closer to the shopkeep, eager to claim their goodies before the lot was gone. Estinien took his place at the back of the bunch, slowly being jostled toward the stall as others queued up or scurried away with their pies._

_“Watch where you’re stepping!” A voice cried out from below him. He looked down to see a child, no, a tiny pink creature glaring up at him with bright sanguine eyes._

_Estinien bit his tongue, holding back the sharp remark that threatened to fly. He was in public, with his face naked for the world, he should mind his manners. “My apologies, I couldn’t see you down there,” he murmured instead._

_“No I suppose not, apology accepted,” the creature squeaked back, turning around to tug on the cloak of the woman in front of her. “How far back in the line are we?”_

_The woman turned to look down at her small friend, hood drawn so Estinien could not make out her face. She was clearly a foreigner judging by her size, also quite small compared to the surrounding forest of Elezen. “Four or five more Tataru, then it should be our turn.” But that voice, he would know that voice anywhere._

_He called her name softly and Warrior of Light turned her face up at him, bright eyes sparkling in the afternoon sunlight. “Estinien, what are you doing here?”_

_“I’ve a gift to find for this party your lot is throwing. But I was distracted by this stall.”_

_“Yes, Madam Zabelle is famous for her pastries. Tataru and I have not quite figured out her secrets, something to do with how she makes the dough I suspect.” She smiled up at him, realization dawning across her face as she registered all of his words. “So you’re coming? I expected you to throw the invitation into the fire with a smart remark about being a warrior of the battlefield not the dance floor.” She chuckled._

_Estinien frowned, not at all liking the insinuation that he might be as predictable as that. “I am not a stranger to feasts, Warrior, do not threaten me with a good time and expect me to run away,” he said, the last words holding a darker edge._

_Her smile grew wider and her mouth opened to speak, but her head snapped round at the call from the counter. Her turn apparently. Estinien moved forward, closing the space that had formed in the huddle but minded his feet so as to not accidentally kick the little one again. He vaguely heard the Warrior give her order as his senses feasted on the spread just beyond her shoulder. Glazed sweet bread with lemon filled centers, bite size orbs of shiny chocolate to melt on the tongue, and cakes of all sizes, shapes and flavors decorated the table. His eyes danced along their glazed surfaces, darting around to find his most favorite of sweet treats._

_“And what will you be having Ser?” The shopkeep asked him._

_“A blood currant tart.”_

_“I’m sorry Ser, but we’ve sold out of the tarts.”_

_Estinien felt his face fall. If there was one dish he savored more than anything else it was this. Of course they didn’t have any more. He bridled his agitation, knowing it wasn’t the fault of the bakers for making such succulent offerings. “A lemon donut then.”_

_“Very good Ser.” The shopkeep quickly plucked one of the shining glazed donuts from the tray and wrapped it up in a thin piece of tissue, handing it to him as he pressed the gil on the countertop with his other hand. He turned away from the stall and made his way out of the crush of hungry patrons still clamoring for their pies. Now in a more open part of the street he noticed that the Warrior and her tiny attendant were still near, waiting for him._

_“Did you get what you came for?” The small one asked, pointing at the tissue in his hand._

_“No, they were sold out,” he said through a mouthful of sweet and tart pastry. Lemon donuts were the second best prize at Zabelle’s and he would not waste a crumb of it._

_“You don’t look too upset about it.” The Warrior added, bright eyes tracking him while he chewed a particularly large bite that would prove a challenge to swallow. Estinien shrugged. “Do you have more shopping to do?”_

_He nodded, still wrestling the pastry with his teeth. He found his feet following the pair through the market as they stopped at nearly all the stalls on the market strip, examining brightly colored silks, glittering jewels, spices from the far east, a chocolate fountain from Ul’dah one could dip a fresh berry into— the Warrior had grabbed a skewered rolanberry labeled “samples” and drenched it in the flowing milk chocolate, humming in satisfaction at the taste. She quickly repeated the motion and Estinien found himself on the business end of her tiny chocolate tipped lance. He eyed her and leaned down to capture the berry delight and slide it from the skewer with his teeth, smirking in satisfaction as he bit down on the bittersweet candy and a light blush dusted across her cheeks._

_“We will definitely take one of those!” The tiny woman declared at the scene before her, eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief before she climbed up on a stool to speak with the shopkeep._

_The Warrior retracted her arm, the spell of the moment broken by her friend. She discarded the skewers in the appropriate collection bin and turned back to him with a cool face, but warm eyes. “Tataru and Count Fortempts seem to be determined to create a feast for the history books this year,” she remarked idly, filling the space that had suddenly opened between them with conversation._

_“Indeed, House Fortempts seems to be on the cutting edge of firsts in Ishgard this season.” He observed looking pointedly at her, implying that she too was a part of these firsts. The small smile tugging at the corners of her lips told him his aim had been true._

_“Do you know who your dining partner is for the party? I mean, have you figured out who it is?” She changed the subject quickly, apparently aware of how easily that line could devolve into outright discussing politics in public, bad form._

_“I do not. I only know that the invitation said rare books and cooking spices were important.” She looked away from him, the faintest trace of color gracing her cheeks. Twice now she had blushed, the first time to be brushed off as an impulsive act she realized was not entirely appropriate, but this. Why would his dining partner’s tastes make her face hot, unless— oh. But he had to confirm. “What about yours?”_

_“Bourbon, lemon meltaways, and chocolate.” She chuckled, “my partner has quite the sweet tooth which does make him rather easy to shop for, though very difficult to pin a face too. I confess I do not know many of the people here personally enough to know who has a craving for sweet or savory.”_

_Aymeric had asked him recently about what he liked, and Estinien had wondered why on earth his friend would want to know_ that _, they had never had a gift giving type of relationship but he had acquiesced. Bourbon, lemon meltaways, and chocolate. His stomach did a small flip at the realization, she must be his dining partner. He straightened his shoulders, unable to quell the smirk dragging at the corners of his lips. “Perhaps you can give me insight on what manner of rare book I should seek out for my partner.” He gestured to the summoners book chained to her belt._

_She smiled brilliantly for him. “I would be happy to help."_

**Author's Note:**

> Part II is drafted and just needs some revision, should be posted in the next couple of days.


End file.
